Man on Fire
by Evenstar606
Summary: While traveling in a foreign land, Legolas and Aragorn are assailed by a group of masked riders, and Legolas is injured. The aftermath of their attack reveals unsettling consequences, and Aragorn must track down the riders to find a cure and save Legolas
1. And so it begins

Man on Fire

By Evenstar606

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Tolkien owns all. **

Summary: While traveling in a foreign land, Legolas and Aragorn are assailed by a group of masked riders, and Legolas is injured. The aftermath of their attack reveals unsettling consequences, and Aragorn must track down the riders to find a cure and save Legolas before he succumbs to a deadly ailment.

"When will you be back?" the question passed Elrond's lips before he had time to think about it. Of course, there was no telling when Aragorn and Legolas would return from one of their hunting trips. Something always befell them.

Aragorn paused while fixing a bridle onto Swiftblade, his chestnut mare. The sounds of spring settled around them. Birds twittered in the trees, their melodic voices filled with carefree joy. A faint breeze drifted through the boughs of Imladris' towering pines, and carried the scents of herb and leaf into the secluded valley.

"A week at the most," Aragorn said finally. He handed Swiftblade an apple, which she munched greedily. Aragorn turned, and dusted the front of his woven shirt, covered in pollen and seed set to the wind by blooming flowers.

Elrond's next question was typical. "Where exactly are you going?"

Aragorn groaned. Now he felt obligated to answer, and Elrond would surely refuse to let them out of the Gates once the words had left Aragorn's mouth. "I've heard that the Iron Hills east of Mirkwood are good hunting ground," Aragorn began.

"Really," Elrond hardened his gaze. "That area has been abandoned for years—you could become lost, or worse!"

"Elrond, I'm not a child anymore," Aragorn insisted. Thirty-eight was hardly considered a child among human standards. He was a full grown man, well into his prime. "I am a Ranger; I know how to handle myself in the wild. Legolas and I won't go far, I promise you."

Just then, Legolas approached leading his white stallion, Amberle. She was loaded down with packs, and bedrolls, yet still stepped as lightly as ever over the grass. "What are you two arguing about now?" Legolas asked. His long blonde hair gleamed in the bright sunlight. Strapped to his back were Legolas's bow and quiver.

"Nothing, _Penneth_," Elrond sighed. He smoothly avoided a confrontation with Legolas, who was nearly as stubborn as Aragorn.

"Good," Legolas smiled, and climbed onto Amberle's back, while Aragorn mounted Swiftblade.

"You two be careful," Elrond warned. "Try to come back in one piece."

"No worries," Aragorn insisted. He prompted his horse on, and they rode out of the Gates, leaving Elrond to stand alone, doing what he did best: worrying.

Aragorn and Legolas rode in silence for several hours. By the time they crossed over the mountains, and found the Old Forest Road leading into Mirkwood, the sun was just beginning to set upon the horizon. Splashes of vivid color bathed the sky above, and the night grew chill. Legolas shivered, more from uneasiness than the cold as they passed under the black canopy of oaks into the vastness of Mirkwood. Hundreds of glowing red eyes peered out at them from the darkness; Legolas felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck, and Amberle pulled restlessly at the reins.

"Aragorn—we need to speed up. Soon it will be pitch black, and we won't be able to see our hands in front of our faces," Legolas said. His voice cut through the quiet like an owl in the empty void when all creatures should be at rest.

"What's wrong _Mellonin_, afraid of the dark?" Aragorn teased good-naturedly. He noticed that Legolas was awfully pale and seemed to be trembling, though it could have been the shadows playing tricks on him.

"I don't want to lose the path," Legolas admitted, and forced a smile. Aragorn nodded in understanding. Wandering astray into the depths of the forest meant certain doom; whether they were eaten by spiders or torn limb from limb by vile orcs. They could not afford to tarry.

"Make haste, Swiftblade," Aragorn urged. Legolas whispered softly to his frightened horse, and they galloped past the staring eyes, and rushed beyond the trees toward freedom and clear air.

At last Mirkwood was behind them. They stopped by the river and set up camp. Aragorn gathered kindling for the fire while Legolas tethered their horses, and stared into the gloom; he strained his ears to listen, could discern no sound of danger, but still a feeling of foreboding clung to him. He had been here before, many, many times, yet not in the waking world. Past nightmares flooded back to invade his subconscious mind, and he tried to shake them off, but they persisted.

_Five-year-old Legolas dashed out of the trees, shrieking in contentment as his father chased him through the forest in a playful game of hide-and-seek. "Come and catch me, Ada!" he called, and hid behind a wide oak, clinging to the trunk and peering out with wide-eyed innocence. Minutes passed, but still no Ada. _

_A frigid wind rustled the branches, and rotting leaves cascaded down to land in Legolas's hair. Overhead, dark clouds slowly gathered. He felt a drop of rain on his nose. Legolas hummed softly to himself, waiting. He began to feel scared, his heart leapt into his throat and pounded rapidly. Panicking, the small Elf ling stepped away from the tree, and walked toward the edge of the forest and into an unfamiliar meadow_

_Out of nowhere, an army of masked riders descended upon him, and he soon found himself blindfolded, swept into their arms and carried away. He screamed but no sound came out. Then everything faded until he felt and saw no more. _

"Legolas," Aragorn jolted him out of his thoughts. Aragorn gestured to the roaring fire. "Come rest, Legolas," he said, mindful of his friend's agitation. "I'll take first watch."

"Very well, Aragorn," Legolas sighed, and cast himself upon his bedroll, although as the night wore on, he did not sleep.

**I hope you all enjoyed this first chapter. Any ideas of what you'd like to see next are welcome!**

Evenstar606


	2. The Tribe of Rhovanion

Man on Fire

By Evenstar606

**Disclaimer: I don't own Legolas or Aragorn. I don't even own LOTR. **

The next morning, Aragorn and Legolas were early abroad. After a quick breakfast they traveled until the sparse trees surrounding the River Running opened up into a green meadow covered in wildflowers. It was a three mile long ride to the Iron Hills, and by the time the tall peaks of the abandoned Dwarf Mountains came into view, they were both ready to explore the countryside and hopefully bring back a deer or two.

Riding deeper into the hills, they stopped near a brook and set up camp. Aragorn allowed the horses to roam free, and graze on the thick grass that carpeted the ground. Suddenly, out of nowhere it seemed, an arrow whizzed past Aragorn's ear, and he jumped back in shock. The horses cried out in terror, and bolted from the campsite, galloping madly into the woods.

"What happened?" Legolas demanded, running to Aragorn's side. The man was unhurt, but he glanced wildly in every direction, searching for intruders. The sound of approaching hooves reached Legolas's ears. "Someone is coming," he said in dismay. A loud yell rang from the trees, and a force of masked riders thundered into the small clearing on black stallions, and vicious wargs. There had to have been forty of them at least, and they bore bows and crude, spiked clubs.

"Run!" Aragorn screamed. They raced back through the trees and the host pursued them. One rider, a black cloth covering most of his face to conceal his identity, leapt from his mount, and strung an arrow to his bow. He bent it and aimed for the fleeing Elf.

The rider let the arrow fly, and it plunged into Legolas's side. He gasped in pain, stumbled, and nearly fell, but managed to regain his bearings. The trees flew by in a blur as he ran, and then he felt something hard connect with his head, and whirled about. He could not see; blood dripped into his eyes, blinding him. A second arrow buried itself in his leg below the knee, and his legs buckled. He fell to his knees.

Aragorn raised his sword, and slew four men as they galloped by on their horses. Strangely, none of the riders paid any attention to him. They acted as if Aragorn was not even there. He heard Legolas scream, and realized, with a sickening sensation, that the men were after him. Aragorn quickly strung his bow and fired arrows at their assailants, killing only a few before his quiver ran out.

"Aragorn, help me!" Legolas pleaded. Blood flowed from his wounds in rivulets, and he glanced around in fear. His ears perked up at a low growl, and before he could even register what it could be, a massive Warg lunged at him, knocking the unsuspecting Elf to the ground. The Warg snarled, saliva dripping from its long canines. It bit deeply into Legolas's flesh, raking its sharp claws down his chest. An arrow pierced the Warg from behind, and it backed off. Aragorn grabbed a spear from the hands of a dying man, and hurled it at the Warg, who fell dead at Legolas's feet.

Legolas rolled over, and began to drag himself toward the nearest tree in an attempt to escape his attackers. A wave of dizziness washed over him, and he finally collapsed in the dirt. Then, as quickly as they had arrived, the masked riders retreated back from whence they came, their dark robes blowing about them like shadows. They disappeared into the hills, and Aragorn ran down the slope toward Legolas, who lay still upon the grass.

"Legolas…Legolas, can you hear me, _Mellonin_?" Aragorn demanded. He pressed his fingers to Legolas's throat. His pulse beat weakly, like a trapped bird flutters it wings against a window pane. There was blood all over Legolas's face; his hair was soaked with it. Aragorn felt his heart clench, and he carefully assessed his friend's other injuries. The Warg bites were deep, and bleeding freely, the skin around the wound flared with red, oozing scratches. There was an arrow in his right leg and another in his left side, deep enough to where the shaft protruded only a few inches. Aragorn wiped sweat from his brow, exhausted after the harrowing battle, and worry for Legolas. The man discovered his hands were covered in blood, and he suppressed a shiver.

Aragorn knew he had to get Legolas help fast before he bled to death, but where were their horses? He whistled, and hoped Swiftblade would remain true to his name, and not let his master down. Sure enough, the horse dashed out of the woods followed by Legolas's stallion. "Hannon-lle, Swiftblade," Aragorn thanked the creature, ruffling her mane.

He bent over Legolas and wrapped the Elf in his own cloak, covering the bleeding wounds, and then slowly lifted him into his arms. Swiftblade knelt and Aragorn was able to put his friend on the horse without trouble, and swung up behind him. "Noro Lim, Swiftblade," he whispered, and like deer sprang away into the woods, lost among the shadows of a fading sun.

Aragorn continued to ride. A violent storm raged around him. Rain poured down in torrents. Thunder exploded, shook the surrounding hills, and a bright, white bolt of lightning clapped in the sky above. The wind whipped at his cloak. The ground became saturated and difficult to navigate through all the mire. He peered into the storm with determination; relief flooded through Aragorn as he steadily approached the Mirkwood border.

Another flash of light revealed the passage to the Elvenking's halls, blocked by fallen trees. The mess would have to be cleared by woodsmen, and it would take days to clear away the debris. Until then, Aragorn realized, the road into Mirkwood was barred to all travelers. He spurred his horse, and they pushed on ahead toward Rivendell.

Glancing down at Legolas, who was deathly pale and unresponsive, Aragorn only hoped he was not too late.

**Yikes! Cliffhanger!**

**Note: **For those of you who have already read chapter one, please go back and read it again, as I have updated it with an important flashback that I forgot to put in before. And if you happen to see a list of chapters in the beginning of the story, ignore it. I saved the list on chapter one by accident, and when I reposted, it kept popping up despite being deleted. Maybe it's not there anymore, but I thought I'd warn you. :-)

I hope you all enjoyed chapter two, and thank you to my reviewers. I did not expect to get such a positive response to this story! Keep your ideas coming!

**Eight reviews needed before the next update!**

Thanks,

Evenstar606


	3. Rivendell WOO HOO!

Man on Fire

By Evenstar606

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Lord of the Rings. **

**This chapter is dedicated to Skysong. Her ideas helped make this chapter more realistic! Also, I dedicate this chapter to Deana, whose wonderful stories inspired me to write my own Leggy Angst. :-) **

**Now on with the story…**

Aragorn raced through the gates of Rivendell, and came to an abrupt halt in front of the steps leading into Elrond's great house. Elladan, who had been standing at the window gazing around at the trees swaying in the gentle breeze, recognized Swiftblade as she approached bearing two riders, and he ran outside followed by Elrohir, his twin.

"What happened?" Elladan gasped, seeing Legolas cradled limply in Aragorn's arms. Before Aragorn could answer, Elrohir ran back into the house and brought a litter. The carefully lowered the injured prince onto it, and carried him inside.

"Ada!" Elrohir shouted; panic rising in his voice. The Elven Lord left his private study, and met them in the hall, where his eyes widened in alarm.

"Estel, _what happened_?" Elrond demanded severely, checking for Legolas's pulse as they walked. Legolas was breathing in short, choking rasps.

Aragorn cringed at Elrond's tone, ashamed by his rash actions, knowing he had been the one that led Legolas into mortal danger despite Elrond's warning. "We were attacked in the hills," he confessed

"Attacked? By _who_?" Elrond asked. They walked swiftly down the hall, and Elrond swung open the doors to an empty room, one that Legolas used frequently on his visits to Rivendell.

"I don't know," Aragorn whispered. "They were men, I'm sure, but strangely, they wore dark masks, covering their faces," he explained, the images embedded in his mind, a memory of gruesome detail. "They seemed to be focused on Legolas."

Elrond nodded gravely, seeing as if for the first time that Aragorn was unscathed. The twins lifted Legolas and placed him on the bed, removing the cloak that hid his wounds. Elrond reeled in shock at the brutality of his injuries; blood saturated his clothes, and all the color had drained from his face. "He's losing too much blood," Elrond said.

He turned to the twins and began to bark out orders. "Get me hot water and cloths, Elrohir," Elrond demanded. "Elladan, find a needle and thread; bring the herbs from my supply closet—hurry!"

The twins hastened out of the room. Elrond cut through the fabric of Legolas's tunic and shirt using a thin knife, carefully peeling them away from his body. He examined the mangled flesh on his chest and right arm. "These look like bites," he mused, and pressed along the bones of Legolas's arm, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"A Warg," Aragorn said, shaking in fear for his best friend's life. He sagged into a chair, and buried his face in his hands; he remained so for several long moments. Finally raising his head, eyes brimmed with tears, he asked, "Is it broken?"

"Thankfully, no," Elrond smiled halfheartedly, reached over and patted Aragorn on the shoulder. Just then Elladan and Elrohir returned with the supplies, and laid them out on the table. Elrond selected Athelas leaves from the basket of various herbs, and crushed them into a bowl of boiling water. The sweet fragrance of Athelas filled the room. He soaked a cloth and began to bathe the wounds on Legolas's chest and arm. Almost immediately Legolas began to breathe easier.

Elladan and Elrohir tended to the arrows in Legolas's side and leg. Aragorn placed his hands firmly on Legolas, holding his leg still upon the bed, and Elladan struggled to pull the arrow free. Yet it was lodged in the bone, and refused to budge. Blood oozed from the edges of the wound, and at last, with a sickening crack, the arrow came out. Aragorn cast it aside while Elladan probed the wound.

"How does it look?" Elrond wondered, seeing Elladan frown.

"Not broken, but the arrow caused a hole, and a hairline fracture," Elladan said, and grabbed a wet cloth, cleaning the wound, and making sure no splinters of arrow remained inside. Taking the needle and thread, he skillfully stitched the wound, and wrapped the leg in a bandage.

Elrond had stitched the wounds in Legolas's chest and arm; he bandaged them, and turned his attention to the arrow obtruding from Legolas's left side. "Be careful," he warned Elrohir. "From the position of the arrow, it may have damage internal organs."

Ever so slowly, Elrohir pulled on the arrow, and it came loose from Legolas's body. A heavy flow of blood followed, and he pressed a dry cloth against the wound to staunch the bleeding. He handed the arrow covered in black ooze to Elrond, who brought the tip to his nose.

"Morgul poison," Elrond confirmed, detecting a strong, pungent odor. He felt the wound on Legolas's side; heat radiated from his skin, and the around the wound was deep bruising. "The poison is working inward, I'm afraid," he said. "I'll treat him with Athelas, but he won't survive without an antidote."

"Oh," Aragorn said somberly, watching as Elrond bathed and stitched the gaping wound. He wrapped a bandage around the Elf's slim waist

Lastly, Elrond cleansed the blood from Legolas's face, and gently pressed along the wounds in his skull. They were raw and bleeding, obviously caused by some foul weapon.

"A spiked club," Aragorn clarified, painful images rising to the surface once again. H closed his eyes tightly, trying to shut them out. "It slammed into his head…"

Elrond shuddered at Aragorn's description. "He has a minor skull fracture," the older Elf confirmed, wrapping bandages around Legolas's head. The head injury extended to just below the brain stem, along the back of his neck, over the contours of his head, and across his forehead. The deep gashes were flared and beginning to swell.

They dressed the unconscious Elf in a long nightshirt, and covered him with warm blankets. Elrond busily mixed a potion to counteract the Morgul poison. Aragorn slipped his hands under Legolas's back, and raised him into an upright position. Elrond poured the medication down Legolas's throat, and he reflexively swallowed. Laying the Elf down, Aragorn hated to ask the question on his mind.

"When will he wake?" Aragorn asked, gently touching the dark bruises that had formed around Legolas's left eye. His face was flushed, and a fine sheen of sweat glistened on his skin. Aragorn laid a hand on the Elf's forehead, and was troubled to find that he blazed with fever.

"I don't know," Elrond admitted. It was going to be a long night; longer still if an antidote could not be found. "Only time will tell."

Aragorn sighed, and sank into the armchair once again. He raised his head, and when he spoke, the weariness that he felt was evident in his voice. "I should have—," he began, then his eyes drooped, his head dropped onto his chest, and he fell asleep.

**Wow! That was tough to write! **

Review Responses:

**Deana: Thanks for reading; I'm glad you're enjoying the story. I hope you aren't mad that I borrowed a few of your ideas from previous stories, like the leg fracture and such—they were great, and I promise to give you credit :-) **

**Beth: Any ideas on what should happen next? The plot bunnies think readers should have an active part in the story:-)**

**Skysong: Thanks for your enthusiastic reviews! They encourage me to keep writing! Stay tuned, there will be more flashbacks of the Masked Riders and Legolas when he was little in future chapters. Do you have any suggestions?**

**Invisigoth3: Thanks for your review! Soon we will know who the Masked Riders are, and why they attempted assassination of poor Leggy. Have you ever played The Two Towers for Playstation2? I'm stuck on a particularly hard level at Helm's Deep!**

**And to everyone else who reviewed, thank you so much for you comments. :-)**

Please review and keep your ideas coming :-)

**Eight reviews needed for next update. **


	4. Night Cries

Man on Fire

By Evenstar606

**Disclaimer: Tolkien owns all. **

**Note: I thought I'd better post this since it's been over a week since I last posted, and the reviews have slowed down. Enjoy my quirky take on Legolas's family history.**

Elrond sat at his desk, and took out a sheet of blank parchment. Beams of sunlight wafted through the open windows, and cast horizontal shadows across the creamy white paper. He dipped his pen into the inkwell, and began to compose a frightful letter to King Thranduil in Mirkwood, informing him of Legolas's feeble condition.

Normally, Elrond would not alarm the already busy King with such dire news, not wanting to cause him further worry or heartache, but the matters surrounding Legolas's attack concerned Elrond more than he wished to admit.

His pen flowed effortlessly, forming each word with mounting fear. Legolas had still not woken, and probably would remain unconscious for some time due to his severe head injury. At last Elrond finished the letter, slipping it into and envelope. He sealed the message closed with hot wax, and walked to the window. Birds sang merrily in the trees, and he signaled them with a low whistle.

A dove drifted into the room, and perched on the windowsill. Elrond tied the letter to its delicate foot. "Fly, _Mellonin_," he whispered, and released the bird into the air. It soared out of sight in the endless sky, disappearing beyond the mountains toward Mirkwood.

Aragorn shifted in his chair and snorted loudly. He jumped awake with a start, and glanced around the room. Legolas was still unconscious, and his breathing sounded shallow, his head lolled weakly to one side. Aragorn realized that he had been awakened by none other than his own snoring. "Honestly, Aragorn, you snore loud enough to wake the dead" he could almost hear Legolas now, and laughed to himself.

He glanced around the darkened room. A thin sliver of light peeked shyly around a window ledge. Aragorn rose from his chair, and moved the billowing curtain aside. The skies spread before him, a great black vault that twinkled faintly with pale starlight. The moon was but a mere crescent in the gloom, and cast moving shadows, dancing a silent ballet for a blind audience. Dropping the curtain, Aragorn turned, and was surprised to see Elrond standing in the doorway.

"You're awake," Elrond said, and quickly scanned Aragorn for signs of discomfort. The human looked disheveled; dark circles smudged under his eyelids, and his forehead was creased with worry. "Did you have a good sleep?"

Aragorn rubbed his eyes, and shook his head. His dreams had been troubled, his rest uneasy until exhaustion finally claimed him. "How long was I asleep?" he wondered.

"Since yesterday afternoon," Elrond smiled. "I didn't have the heart to wake you."

"How's Legolas?" Aragorn demanded anxiously.

"The same as he was when you brought him in, Aragorn," Elrond said, bending over Legolas and feeling his pulse. "I've sent a letter to Thranduil. He's probably worried sick—"

"He'll be furious," Aragorn said flatly. He knew too well that the Elvenking's temper was not merely a myth. Legolas had often recount tales of when unfortunate servants, travelers who strayed into their realm, even at times— Legolas himself—had come to face the wrath of Thranduil. Sometimes—only sometimes, Legolas had told him, his father had been drove to such anger that he had slapped Legolas.

"Would you blame him?" Elrond asked gently.

Aragorn cringed. "You're right; I should have been more careful," he sighed, remembering that they had forgotten to pack any healing supplies in case of an accident Aragorn was an accomplished healer, taught in House of Elrond from a young age. If he had used Athelas in those meager hours after Legolas was injured, maybe he wouldn't be in this condition!

"Go get something to eat, Estel," Elrond commanded. Aragorn groaned, but nodded and left. He knew Elrond meant business when he called him by his elvish name.

Elrond made sure Aragorn was escorted to the kitchens by Elrohir, and then he busied himself with tending to Legolas. He soaked a clean cloth in icy water, and placed it on Legolas's forehead, smoothing his hair away from the bandages. The head wounds were starting to bleed through, but not enough to fuss over.

Finally Elrond pulled up a chair and sat down to wait out the night.

At this very moment, King Thranduil was lost in the paths of elvish dreams, fingering jewels in his mind. Suddenly he found himself standing amid tall, black oaks that were unfamiliar to him, for they were menacing and stood like sentinels in the night, pointed stiff, emaciated fingers into an impenetrable fog. Thranduil did not know how he had come to this place. He didn't know where he was, or why he was there, only that he had been here, many, many times.

He strained to hear. Nothing. Tried to see. He could not discern certain objects; everything was blurred, out of focus, like the reflection in a mirror of polished silver. A presence hung in the fog, a presence that had only just appeared.

Out of the fog, he could hear the shrill, terrified screams of his son—Legolas! He was too young to wander the forest alone. Thranduil began to run, clawed his way through the thick growth of branches that threatened to engulf his precious child and trap him forever.

Thranduil jolted awake, sweating profusely. "My Lord?" Galion's face swam into focus. He handed a letter to the King. Thranduil grabbed it, tearing the envelope open without a second thought. The moonlight glittered off the sapphire ring on his finger; he dipped his head and his golden hair cascaded over his shoulders as he read silently.

Elrond's bold print seemed to glare at him from the page, and immediately his eyes overflowed with tears. _My Dear Lord Thranduil…I regret to inform you that Legolas was attacked while hunting with Estel…he is gravely wounded…_The letter fluttered from Thranduil's trembling fingers. His face paled, and Galion looked at him, concerned for his well-being.

"My Lord, are you alright?" Galion persisted, and moved to aid the King as he rose from his bed; the silken sheets and embroidered bedcovers hit the floor, and Thranduil swatted Galion's hands away.

"Send for my horse," Thranduil mumbled. "I must leave for Rivendell at once."

He offered no explanation. Galion bowed and quickly left the room to prepare the King's escort.

Thranduil's heart raced, his mind whirling with a thousand questions. Who would attack his son? He struggled to shake off the memory of his nightmare, but it clung to him like frost on a sapling in the bitter days of winter. He dressed hurriedly, and walked out of his bedchamber on wooden legs it seemed, a puppet held taut by the strings of parental fears. Deep they delved in the corners of his subconscious; and one thought, a heart wrenching realization, loomed above all, an ominous black shadow that threatened to destroy his entire world in a single sweep.

His son was dying.

The ride to Rivendell could not have been any slower for Thranduil. Although his horse sped toward the High Pass with an urgency that was admirable among the guards in the King's escort, the miles went by in a wretched flow of hours, and the road seemed to stretch even longer as time wore on. Thranduil closed his eyes in silent prayer, seeing before his eyes the day of Legolas's birth.

The Queen had collapsed one morning, the agonizing labor pains tearing at her like knives into her flesh. Lord Elrond had been called immediately, for something about Celebrinöme's labor didn't seem right to the healers in Thranduil's household. Sure enough she was bleeding heavily, and survival of both mother and child was uncertain.

But the Queen was strong, and lived to see the beautiful face of her child as he came into the world. She was a Silvan Elf, raised in a noble house of Princes in the Golden Wood of Lothlorien. But before the Last Alliance, her family had been deemed Dark Elves and cast out of their home in Lindon, their strange practices of magic unseemly. Celebrinöme and her family were outlaws, and wandered the lands of Middle-Earth in search of a home. When Lothlorien was established, they were taken in by the Galadrim, and dwelt under the fair trees for thousands of years.

Celebrinöme became a sorceress of small magic, gifted with powers that only High Elves possessed. She was Silvan, and therefore, special. Her marriage to Thranduil brought her jubilation, and the birth of their child was a blessing.

Legolas was born prematurely; his tiny lungs struggled to breathe and Elrond feared for his life. But he lived, thanks to Elrond's skills and the loving care of his parents, and although his mother was murdered by orcs only a year later, Thranduil was there to see him grow up. Because of his Wood Elf heritage, Legolas was very intuitive even at a young age, and a trace of his mother's magical ability remained in his heart. He shared a deeper bond with nature than most of his kind.

Thranduil paused in his reminiscing to guide his horse along the rocky path into the mountains. He saw Legolas as a toddler; learning to walk on his unsteady legs like a fawn in the secluded glades of the forest, encouraged by his father's outstretched arms. His white-blonde hair barely brushed his collar, and his big blue eyes were wide with joy as he attempted to close the distance between him and his Ada. A smile graced Thranduil's lips as in his memory, Legolas fell and he ran to comfort him, wiping away the tears that slid down his face.

"'_Las love Ada," Legolas said, and buried his face in Thranduil's cloak. The King swept Legolas up into his arms and swung him around. _

The vision faded, and Thranduil stared ahead into the gloom. Only the sound of the horses' hooves on the ground filled the silence. At last the valley of Rivendell came into view. The company spurred their mounts and hastened to Elrond's gates.

**That's the end of chapter 4! **

**Please read and feel free to share your comments and suggestions. **

**Note: I heard that Review Responses are not allowed on the stories page. Where can I post them now?**


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